Tell A Story The Way That Liars Do
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Returning from Neverland, Emma finds Storybrooke difficult to adjust to - Neal is settled with other people and Gold and Regina are both working to be better for their children. Where does Emma fit in now? She's not the only one in pain. She and Hook gravitate towards each other, the result is unsurprisingly messy.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Set in the near future in season three. Warning, contains a polyamous relationship._

* * *

**TELL ME A STORY, THE WAY THAT LIARS DO**

_There's a story about a princess. She was cursed to be a swan during the day and human at night. The prince she was in love with searched for her, the sorcerer hoping to marry her for her kingdom worked hard to stop him._

_The prince's words accidentally killed his love and it took all his bravery and skill to kill the sorcerer and revive the princess._

"And that's my problem, right there." Emma finished, pointing a half-full beer bottle at Hook.

"The ending too happy for you, Swan?"

Emma wrinkled her nose. "No, the princess is the problem. The princess is _always_ the problem."

Hook laughed, tugging the cap off a beer bottle with his hook. He claimed that the only real drink for a man was rum, but he hadn't complained once about the beer.

"What's wrong is your story, that's not how things were."

Emma rolled her eyes and drained her bottle. She might have moved between a lot of families and homes, but there'd always been the same stories recycled at each one, even the orphanage had had a couple of fairytale books. They'd been a tangible thread throughout her childhood. Now though, as an adult, her family was weirdly knitting itself together and it was the stories that were getting torn apart.

"Oh, she was a princess and she did have wings." Hook's smile became more of a leer. "And what wings they were."

Emma's expression was withering. "Whatever you're thinking, that's not the kind of story I can tell Henry."

"When a boy gets to a certain age..."

Emma seriously considered throwing her empty bottle at him, but Hook's leer melted into a laugh that was only kind of dirty, by his standards, so she dropped the bottle haphazardly down beside her on the dock instead.

"As I said she had wings, and she had brothers," Hook continued as though he'd never taken a diversion. "Quite a sight, that flock, against the winter skies."

Emma squinted upwards, imagining figures with wings. Would they look like birds? Or like the angels on Christmas cards? Then Hook's words caught up with her and she frowned.

"Wait, so the wings weren't a curse? Or was the whole family in on the spell?"

Hook looked pleased at Emma catching his story's details. "She was cursed to be a swan during the daylight hours, true, but whilst in that form, she spent every moment searching for her love, and at night, once she'd found him, well, apparently that's not a Henry-friendly story."

Of course. "And the wings? Her brothers?"

"The princess hadn't just been looking for her prince; she'd been looking for an antidote. But once her brothers got their hands on the sorcerer, he was no help to anyone. Besides, now that she knew what it was like to fly, the princess couldn't spend forever with her feet on the ground. Her brothers and her prince didn't make any deals but thanks to a magic boon or two from the prince's kingdom, together, they gave her wings."

There was a look on Hook's face, like he was remembering. The books had always said that Peter Pan flew, had there been wings involved instead of fairies? Was the swan princess part of it? It wouldn't be the first time that she'd discovered fairytales crossing borders.

"Her brothers didn't want her going somewhere that they couldn't follow again, so they turned the spell on themselves, leaving none for the prince. Not quite your happy ending, but..."

"But, she wasn't alone."

Emma's voice was quiet and Hook nodded. They lapsed into thoughtful silence. Emma had always wondered what it was like, to have a family like that. Sometimes, she now felt like she knew. She didn't ask whether the princess and her prince had worked out, that part of fairytales always seemed to be true, no matter what version was being told. The princess didn't spend all her time in the air, maybe that was enough for the prince. Maybe he understood why she needed the wings, and why she needed her brothers more than him.

When she reached for another bottle, Hook grasped it too and uncapped it with his hook. The glass felt warm between them, and Hook's eyes were...it was the beer, Emma decided, pulling the bottle close and ignoring the shiver that ran through her. Definitely the beer.

* * *

_There's a story about a princess who was cursed to sleep for a hundred years, in a castle covered with thorns. But her prince, Philip, who'd loved her from the moment they'd met, fought valiantly to save her. Maleficent, the evil sorceress responsible, fought back, even turning herself into a dragon in order to vanquish him. But Philip cut her down and cut through the thorns, before waking the princess with true love's kiss._

Aurora had been pretty much exactly like the storybook princess that Emma had read about all those years ago. She'd had this unshakable good nature, even though her prince was dead, even though everyone she'd ever loved was gone. Emma hadn't known how to talk to her.

Then, during the Neverland rescue mission, she'd literally run into Aurora, Mulan, a man who'd turned out to be a newly-alive Philip, and Neal. Emma's heart had reverberated with relief and the biggest kick of pained confusion because Neal's fingers were twined casually in Aurora's hair and Mulan was directing that small secret smile of hers towards Philip who was holding Aurora's hand…

Then hadn't been the time for questions, it was more of a 'run for your life, the fairies are coming' moment. Now though, everybody was back in Storybrooke, everybody. There really was no easy way to ask your ex which of his housemates he was fucking, or, in fact, how many of them.

Aurora paid for Emma's drink at the diner. It was weird seeing her out of her silk dress and shawl, though Aurora looked equally at home in a modern flowing skirt and pretty floral top. She looked prettily youthful and her eyes shone as she smiled back at her tablemates. Neal was sat next to Philip, and Mulan, who still had her sword at her hip, sat across the table from them. Emma stared for a couple of seconds before turning back.

"Thank you for letting Neal see Henry today," Aurora said quietly, her hand on Emma's arm. "He's been looking forward to it."

Right. Neal was staying because of Henry and Gold and whatever else it was that he had going on. Unsurprisingly, Neal wanted to be part of Henry's life. Henry's life was getting pretty full with family. Emma bit her lip until it hurt.

"Sure," she managed. "Henry's looking forward to it too. He's got a million questions, so, consider yourself warned."

Aurora laughed, the noise sweet and unaffected somehow. "He's had a long time to think of them. Neal understands."

More than most people would. Emma hadn't been there for the conversation but she was pretty sure that one of Neal and Gold's father-son talks had to have hit highlights like 'why did you kill my Mom?' Emma stole a glance at Neal again, that sick feeling rolling in her stomach. It had been doing that a lot since Neverland. Neal looked up in time to catch her eye, his gaze determined with a shadowed undercurrent. Once, Emma would have said that she was only one who got to see things like that, what he hid so well, now though; she was way down the list.

"Mom!" Henry returned from the bathroom. "I'll see you later, right?"

Emma smiled, running a hand quickly over his head, to reassure herself more than him. "Right. Dinner. Don't be late."

Henry rolled his eyes and turned to Aurora who smiled at him. The two of them had formed quite a bond after their shared dream experience and Henry seemed to like talking to her. Now, he bounded over to his dad's table, where he shook Philip's hand as the prince moved so that Henry could sit beside Neal. Aurora perched on Philip's lap and Neal gazed down at a talkative Henry like he was most amazing thing that Neal had ever seen.

Her stomach rolling, Emma abruptly got to her feet and walked quickly out of the diner. She shouldn't stay anyway, that'd be too much like Regina – spying and hoping that another parent screwed up with Henry. Regina hadn't been that way for a while though, she was regularly getting therapy with Archie and though she'd never be best friends with Snow, okay they'd probably never even be just regular friends, there was something like progress there too.

God, was everything completely upside down now?

Emma ran a hand over her face. She had a shift to get back to at the Sheriff's station; she didn't have time for this. A voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You look like you need this."

Hook was leaning against a nearby fence, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand. Despite the fact that he'd been in Storybrooke for over a month now, he still wore his leather pants and jacket, like he might need to leave at any moment. Another feeling seeped through Emma's veins. She pressed it down hard.

"I'm working," she told him, though she didn't deny that he was right – she did need a drink.

Hook took an unimpressed look up and down the main street. "I hardly think they'll notice if you take the day off."

He produced a glass from somewhere and poured out a good shot of whiskey. He offered it to Emma. There was a moment when the glass was between them and Emma felt suspended, like someone had hit pause on the world, or maybe just on Storybrooke, again. God, everything seemed even crazier than usual.

She took the glass and drank the whiskey down quickly. It burned beautifully. Hook chuckled and refilled the glass. There was the sound of laughter from the diner, it was probably just Emma's imagination but it sounded like Neal. She drank the second glass down without checking who Hook had poured it for.

When he didn't pour again, Emma directed her gaze towards him, about to ask what the hold-up was, when she saw how frozen he was, how white his knuckles were around the whiskey bottle, how pained and yearning his expression was. Right, she wasn't the only one knocked sideways by recent developments.

She took the bottle from him and poured a glassful, holding it out. "You look like you need this."

Hook blinked, but the pain stayed in the crevices of his face. There was no leer there, not even a smirk. Was he thinking about Baelfire? Two different Neals, two different kinds of pain. Emma stayed silent as Hook took the glass and gulped down the whiskey without hesitation.

She was late back to the Sheriff's station.

* * *

_There's a story about a woman who wasn't a princess. She was a warrior in men's armor, taking her father's place in the army. Everybody had pushed her towards marriage, dresses, and tea ceremonies. Mulan grasped a very different kind of honor._

_She grew to excel in the army, whilst new feelings inside her grew for her stern commander, and while her true self was exposed, she saved her country, gaining a blessing from the Emperor. More importantly to her, she kept her family safe._

Mulan seemed the least changed by the move to Storybrooke. She still wore her sword, though now she also wore jeans and fitted jackets, and she was still the dedicated, serious, warrior who would do anything for Philip and Aurora. Now, it looked like she'd do a lot for Neal too. Emma had almost literally stumbled into them sitting close together in the library, Mulan's voice quiet and sad as she talked about her family and all the reading she'd done with her father. Neal's hand had run down her arm comfortingly, before stopping to squeeze her hand. Emma had backed away fast; the moment had felt weirdly intimate.

It'd been David's suggestion that Mulan would be a good fit at the Sheriff's station. While Hook might scoff at the idea of criminal emergencies in Storybrooke, there'd been more than enough chaos for Emma to know that Mulan officially keeping an eye on the town was a great idea, no matter who she was sleeping with. Mulan didn't want a gun; she came to the job already armed.

So Emma saw a lot of Mulan, seeing as they shared an office. Mulan had learned enough to know how to use the telephone and computer, though the latter was a work in progress. She already knew how to lock people up. Most of the time, Mulan sharpened her sword, methodical and concentrated. She made the steady movements look graceful.

She didn't seem to mind that Emma watched her a lot. Sometimes Aurora brought them lunch, touching Mulan's hand before heading to the library to help Belle – the job had been a good idea, giving Aurora someone to talk to who knew all about adjusting to this strange new world and giving Belle someone new to talk, someone new and without an agenda.

Sometimes Philip dropped in. He was every unbelievable princely cliché, though now he wore slacks and a button-down shirt and smiled as he sat on Mulan's desk, talking to her about battles past and what their plans would be for the evening. Mulan's smile was small, like she couldn't quite believe what was happening to her.

Neal rarely came into the Sheriff's station. Mostly he waited outside for Mulan's shift to finish.

Filling in way too many forms, Emma juggled thoughts of Mulan's unflinching loyalty to the woman who her love loved. Would she have come to Storybrooke if she hadn't been following Philip and Aurora? Would Aurora and Philip have come without her?

Emma realized that Mulan was looking at her. She arched an eyebrow in a clear silent question. Mulan continued sharpening her sword.

"If you want to learn more about handling a sword, I can teach you," was all she said.

David had made the same offer, as had Hook – with a lot of innuendo about thrusting and proper technique. Mulan glanced up at her again.

"I learned as a man, but the form and technique differs."

It was an honest open offer and it totally made sense. Emma was grateful, but her expression probably telegraphed the confusion of feelings and resentment tumbling through her because Mulan's mouth thinned. She didn't strike out with questions or demands though. Mulan was like that – careful and strong, a wall that people would have struggle past in order to get to Aurora or Philip, or Neal too apparently. There was lot going on beyond that wall, Mulan just rarely let it show, because she had a job to do and for her, that was what mattered most – loyalty and keeping her promises.

"Sure," Emma pushed the word out, because how could she not?

At the end of the day, Neal waited outside for Mulan. Emma thought she could smell his cologne, though it could have just been her mind and the town playing tricks on her. Did his skin still smell the same? Did he still sleep like he owned the bed? Mulan slid her sword into the sheath over her back; her hair a long thick tail and her eyes tinted with concern. Now she was the one asking a silent question.

Emma didn't answer, even though her stomach felt sicker by the minute. Things had been beyond awkward between her and Neal since Neverland – how did you follow up a declaration of love and an apparent death? Yeah, neither Emma nor Neal had any clue. And Emma had realized pretty quickly that Neal was already exploring pastures new, a fact which had made something choke and stutter inside of her when she'd been dealing with way too much already.

Mulan lingered, like she expected some actual words, before nodding a goodbye and slipping out the door. Emma watched through the window as Neal murmured something and Mulan unleashed one of her rare warm expressions. They didn't hold hands or link arms; they just walked close, side by side. Neither of them looked back.

Emma pressed her lips together. She was not feeling sick, she was not in pain. When she looked up again, Hook was waiting in the early-evening shadows. A silent question was all over his face. The pain lessened, just a fraction.

Emma turned off the lights.

* * *

It was definitely the beer. Killian's lips were furious and hungry on hers, Emma made a noise deep in her throat that was absolutely the beer's fault and dug her fingers into his bare back. Killian hissed, trailing his mouth down to her neck where he began making an enthusiastic mark. Emma struggled to undo his leather pants.

The shadows flickered around them; beer bottles clinked on the table that Emma was pushed up against. She kicked off her boots and the two of them fought over her top. Emma won, needlessly flinging the fabric into the darkness, and Killian buried his face against her chest, words spilling formlessly from his lips, his whole body worshiping her. It was the best Emma had felt in weeks.

It felt even better when Killian finally thrust into her – no innuendo needed. Emma held on and thrust back. The pain was all buried in pleasure. The air smelled of beer and sex.

They didn't have to say anything coherent, they understood each other.

* * *

_There's a story about a princess called Snow White, hated so much by her stepmother, the Wicked Queen, that a huntsman was ordered to kill her. But the huntsman couldn't and told her to run into the forest and never return. Snow White did, finding a house and a home there with seven hardworking dwarves. The handsome prince she'd left behind searched for her with an increasingly broken heart._

_Hearing from her Magic Mirror that the princess still lived, the Queen disguised herself as an old crone and ventured into the forest armed with a poisoned apple. The dwarves carved a glass coffin and laid Snow White in it, keeping watch until her prince finally found her resting place. With one kiss, he woke her._

Emma knew that Mary Margaret wanted to talk about it. She kept looking at Emma with a lot of concern and a few times even brokered the subject – Emma should talk to Neal, second chances were rare, look at Mary Margaret and David. Yeah, look at them. Whatever she felt for Neal – and right now it was wrapped up in a lot of resentment and pain – Emma knew it wasn't like the love that Mary Margaret and David shared, a thought that only made her pain increase.

Mary Margaret seemed to digest and understand and didn't push about it again. Emma had a lot of lunches with her, with David too. It was nice, but Emma could feel their concern hovering. God, they meant well, but it was stifling. It made her feet itch.

Later when Emma was waiting for Henry to be done hanging out with Neal, she spotted Regina, lingering at the edge of the park, her face unreadable, her eyes on a laughing wooden sword-wielding Henry. Then her eyes lifted to meet Emma's. There was no triumph or gloating in her expression. They held each other's gaze for long moments. Neither of them had to say a word.

* * *

Hook turned up on her doorstep, of course he did. Emma snatched the whiskey bottle out of his hand and took a long drink. Hook didn't complain, he watched with amusement and something else stirring in his gaze.

"And how was your day, Swan?"

His breath smelled of whiskey. Her feet were still itchy. She could blame what she was thinking of doing on the alcohol. She grabbed a handful of Hook's leather coat and yanked him in for a messy desperate kiss. He didn't complain about that either. His fingers immediately buried themselves in her hair, pulling on it to the point of pain. It was exactly what Emma needed.

There were no words between them. The look in Hook's eyes said enough – pain, longing, and resentment. It was too much. Emma dived back in.

The evening was rich with sensation – the coolness of his metal hook tracing her breasts, his breath warm against the curve of her cheek, the greedy slide of his hand, his astonishment when her hand gripped the hook without hesitation or distaste.

There were moments when his fingers gentled, when the sounds he made were almost tender. But they were only moments.

Later, when their flushed bodies were cooling and a very different silence had fallen, Emma reached for the whiskey again. Hook scrounged up some glasses from somewhere and she poured out a couple of shots. Hook held out his, a clear call for a toast. His mouth was a sharp slice; his hook rested on her knee. There still wasn't any need for words.

Their glasses met.

* * *

_There's a story about a girl who wore a red cloak and went to visit her granny. Her basket was full of treats and her heart was brave, but the Big Bad Wolf was sly and clever, swallowing down her granny and taking her place. The girls noticed the size of her granny's eyes, ears, and teeth but it was too late, the wolf was lunging for her…until a hunter rushed in with an axe._

Ruby slid a dish of ice cream towards her. "To cheer you up, before you start scaring everyone else off."

Emma started, but accepted the ice cream with a pinched expression. Ruby leaned across the counter, concern clear on her usually cheery face. "You okay?"

Emma grimaced, which said everything about how she was feeling and how she felt about people asking her that. Ruby refused to take the hint though, staying right where she was. Emma spooned up the ice cream; Ruby was annoyingly persistent in sniffing out answers.

"Just getting used to the changes round here."

It was a simple and vague enough statement, encompassing a hell of a lot. Ruby cocked her head, sympathy and understanding flooding her expression. She didn't grab Emma's hand or start talking about the importance of counting blessings and second chances and the different shapes that family could take. Instead, she shrugged a little.

"A lot's happened, but everyone's here, back in Storybrooke."

Yeah, and that was the blessing and the problem. Everyone was here, carving out a new sort of life. Emma was…mostly she didn't know what she was, stuck halfway probably, hating the past, freaked out by the present, ignoring the future.

"Henry's happy," she said at last, because that was what mattered.

Ruby nodded. "He's lucky – grandparents, two moms, and a dad."

It was Emma's turn to nod, then Ruby's voice slipped to low and sly with ease and without warning. "Of course he's not the only one getting lucky..."

Emma's spoon clanked against the ice cream dish. Ruby smirked, pressing a finger to her nose.

"He's got a very distinctive odor; I think it's all the rum and salt water…"

Fuck. Of course, Ruby and her heightened sense of smell. Emma's feet were very itchy all of a sudden and her heart was thundering way too fast. It was all too close under her skin. Dropping money on the counter, she got to her feet, deciding that now was a really good time to leave. Ruby called after her, glee and laughter in her voice.

"I want details!"

Outside the diner, Emma almost ran right into Neal. They both startled to a stop. Neal was alone, for once, and rocked back on his heels.

"You all right?"

He wasn't asking it like everybody else, he never did. Emma shrugged an answer, her heartrate dropping just a little. "No curses or evil sorceresses apart from Regina, just a very nosy waitress, so yeah, okay."

Neal cracked a smile and looked like he was about to say something but stopped himself. He looked less tense than before; it was a good look on him. Emma shoved that thought right down with all the pain and nausea.

"Good, glad to hear that," Neal answered at last.

It was on the tip of Emma's tongue to ask him to keep an eye on his Dad, but she'd heard his anger towards Gold in New York. Neal might have been rebuilding some kind of bond there, but he was probably still extremely wary, especially with Henry around. And it wasn't like Henry didn't have protection, as Ruby had pointed out; he had plenty of family, not to mention the houseful that Neal was currently living with.

That was the cue for Emma's stomach to roll and her chest to ache, yep there it was, and Neal's expression tightened with concern. "You sure you're okay?"

Emma managed a flat sort of smile, feet itching even more now. The shadows were still there in Neal's face, only they were more pronounced now, away from his little group. Huh. Emma shoved her hands into her pockets.

"Sure, why not?"

Neal raised eyebrows to say that he knew her better than that, but she shot a look back that told him exactly how much she did not want to be pushed right now. So Neal nodded and took a step past her. He paused for a second, close enough for her to feel the puff of air as he spoke.

"Thanks, for Henry."

Some of the ache in Emma's chest eased. She inclined her head, the awkwardness between them looser than it had been in weeks. Neal moved on, more than one step this time. Emma wondered who he had plans with.

On the way home, she took a beer-buying detour. She was so knee-deep in thought that when she next became aware of her surroundings, she realized that her itchy feet had taken her all the way to the docks. Some vague salty smell whipped around her on the breeze and Ruby's word sing-songed in her head. The _Jolly Roge_r's flag fluttered like a response.

Hook was already halfway down the gangplank; his smile wicked in the moonlight. The ache inside Emma eased up even more, and a corresponding tension clenched instead. Everything felt so raw.

"Thinking of me, Swan?"

He alighted beside her and took a bottle from her arms. His eyes scanned her thoroughly, his smirk softening at what he saw. Emma stared back, because her pain had eased and the beer hadn't even started flowing yet. The itch in her feet flared up again and she shifted, feeling as though for a moment the world was spinning like a compass needle.

She held out a bottle. Hook's smile didn't become a smirk again. Instead he reached and with one clever motion, uncapped her beer. The glass was still warm between them.

* * *

_There's a story about…_

"Oh God," Emma's head lolled to one side. "There's too many princess stories."

Hook laughed, his feet dangling off the edge of the dock. She'd stolen his coat to use as a pillow. "I can tell you a great many fairy stories, love. They'd make your hair curl."

Emma rolled her eyes at his tone. She'd have to head home at some point, Henry was due over for breakfast tomorrow. Her thoughts were interrupted by Hook's shadow, he was leaning over her, his eyes a sudden startling flash of color. His hand stroked through her hair with a deliberate gentleness that could have been blamed on the beer. The tug that followed was on the right side of pain. Emma yanked his wrist close enough to bite; she felt his pulse jump against her mouth.

Mary Margaret would make worried eyes and want to talk. Ruby would want details. Emma wanted…Hook's fingers trailed through her hair; she could smell beer and salt.

_There's a story about a princess who wasn't a princess at all. She grew up alone, donning invisible armor against the world. But magic had not forgotten her._

_There's a story about a pirate who hadn't always been a pirate and was never a prince. He grew up alone, taking what he wanted and falling in tragic love. His world became a darker place, but magic had not forgotten him either._

_The princess carried a gun, she rarely took her armor off. The pirate was a lost boy, who'd do anything for revenge._

_They didn't live happily ever after, but it was a start._

_**-the end**_


End file.
